Three Days
by RayneSummer
Summary: Those three days from when Charlie left must have been really bad for Sam to be so sick by The Great Escapist...
1. Chapter 1

**I know I haven't written in absolutely ages, but I've started college now and it is quite a bit different from school. I've also been busy dog training, and have had writer's block, so I had no idea what to write about. I got this idea a few weeks ago but couldn't write it, but now I'm buckling down. Back into my stride of sick!Sam and protective!Dean, helped by the new season that has just started.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sam and Dean and never will, fortunately for them (ha!)**

**Season Eight fanfiction, so spoilers for that season; set i nbetween Pac-Man Fever, 8.20, and The Great Escapist, 8.21.**

**Summary: ****_"When's the last time you ate?"_****  
****_ "I... I don't-"_****  
****_ "Days, Sam. Three days."_**

* * *

After Charlie left and Dean had hugged his brother through mixed feelings, Sam soon went to bed. Well, went to his room was more like it; sleeping wasn't really something that Sam was busy doing these days.

Dean looked in a few hours after the younger Winchester's retreat to his room, and wasn't that surprised to find Sam sitting up on bed, typing away on his laptop. 'Not surprised' didn't mean he wasn't pissed though.

He sighed loudly to announce his presence, and when Sam jumped guiltily at the sound, Dean walked into the room. He surveyed his little brother's appearance with his constant gnawing worry. He could see that Sam was getting thin and weaker from lack of taking care of himself. Which put big brother in charge.

"Thought you were going to bed, sparky?" Dean said; it wasn't really a question. More of an exasperated comment. He had known that Sam wouldn't let himself rest.

Sam licked his lips nervously. "Just checking the news," he muttered, closing down whatever he was really doing on the computer and shutting it, looking at Dean innocently.

Dean would have rolled his eyes, had they not been busy checking over his brother. Sam was looking very tired and Dean decided it was definitely time to put the toys away.

"Okay. Now it's bedtime." For good measure, Dean picked the laptop off of the side and tucked it under his arm. Predictably, Sam flinched as if to protest, but one look at Dean's glare told him it was pointless.

"Fine," he muttered instead, and pulled his covers out from underneath him, slipping down and under them. He looked back at Dean with a slight self-satisfied smirk. "Better?"

Dean glared at him, but inside he did feel better. Teasing meant Sam wasn't close to giving up yet.

Sam continued to watch him in amusement. "You gonna watch me sleep too?" He asked as Dean made no move to go.

The older Winchester used the full power of a Winchester bitchface on the younger, and turned to leave without a comment. Until he reached the door, where he glanced back. Sam was still watching him.

"Get some sleep," Dean said, rather abruptly. He quickly left the room with the computer, shutting the door behind him. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

He sighed again and was about to move off, back to the main rooms, when there was the sound of coughing from behind him. Dean tensed, but forced himself not to go back in the room. It would only antagonize Sam to know that he was listening.

Eventually, the choking sounds stopped and there was an audible sigh from the room, followed by the clearing of a throat, and, eventually, the movement of bedcovers and silence.

Dean relaxed a little, and listened for a second more before walking away from the door, heading towards the Batcave's bigger rooms, worrying all the way.

He settled himself down in the darkening conference room - as Sam had claimed it was (Dean didn't really care) - and opened up the laptop his brother had been working on.

It was true that Dean used to not know a lot about how to work a computer, but that was a while ago, and between Charlie and Sam, he had caught on a few things. Such as looking into the internet history.

Scanning down the recently used websites, nothing stood out majorly. He sighed. Either Sam had erased his history, or he was actually just looking on legit websites.

Brooding wasn't one of Dean's favorite subjects, but as he sat back in his chair and stared sightlessly at the blank screen, he couldn't help but think deeply into where they exactly were.

This was actually a rather hard thing to do - all he could come up with was that they were ass deep in the crapiest demon hunting thing he could think of right now. Sam was doing these trials to shut the damn gates of hell, and they were messing with him in ways Cas couldn't even heal.

Dean sighed again. He was sighing a lot today. He put his head in his hands for a moment, kneading his eye sockets with the heels of his hands, wishing there was some way out of this. Of course there wasn't. (He had been looking).

Eventually standing up, he powered down and closed the lid of the laptop, before heading to bed himself. Like Sam, though, he wasn't really going to sleep. The early hours of the morning continued to find Dean Winchester sitting on his untouched bed, reading up on all the books he could find (not many) about the crap hole they were in. And as every night, he found nothing.

* * *

Day One

After a couple of hours fitful sleep, Dean got up, took a shower, changed his clothes, and headed into the kitchen to find something for breakfast. He decided that if Sam was awake the kid was eating, no two ways about it, so he made a simple scrambled eggs on toast.

Predictably, a walk into the map room discovered Sam sitting at the table, leafing through papers spread out in front of him. Dean approached him, noticing the tired lines on his face. Sam had gotten no more sleep his brother.

"Hey. Made some breakfast, you want to try some?" He hadn't planned to ask it as a question - more of an order or statement would have been better - but Sam's hollow look made Dean's already scaling worry shoot up so he became more gentle. Damn kid looked worse every day.

Sam glanced wearily up at Dean, not really focusing on him. "No thanks; I'm fine," he murmured, looking back at his papers without further ado.

Dean sighed. He should make Sam eat it, he really should, but he didn't have it in his heart right now. Instead he gave his brother a visual triage, assessing the need for medication and fluids that he would buy later.

Then he wondered back to the kitchen, and ate some of the food himself, but he didn't really want to. After a few failed mouthfuls, Dean gave up and threw it away. Maybe he'd get Sam to eat later.

They spent most of the morning looking up places where Kevin could be. Aside from the CCTV that Dean had set up, they did their best to look into the prophet's history and see if he could be anywhere else. Both avoided the point that if he wasn't any of these places, then perhaps he hadn't moved himself at all.

Dean tried to force it away. They didn't need that crap too.

Around noon Sam turned in. He was getting more and more tired and lethargic, plus definitely beginning to run a fever that had been barely noticeable before. Now Dean could feel the heat when he even walked past Sam, and mentally noted to buy a thermometer, unsure if they even had one at the moment.

The afternoon was more quiet, as Sam's frequent coughing fits were confined to his bedroom, where he stubbornly refused to sleep; preferring to sit at his desk and read through useless books until his head drooped in tiredness.

Bored of this, Dean marched back to Sam's room for the about fifth time, but was surprised and worried to not find his little brother there. A quick search of the surrounding area, however, showed him that Sam wasn't very far away.

Dean knocked softly on the locked bathroom door. "Sammy, it's me," he called. Rather unnecessary, but Sam was in a strange state of mind right now.

After a minute where Dean considered how pissed his brother would still get - despite being sick - if he tried to kick down the door, the lock slowly scraped and the door opened as a gesture of entrance.

The next about hour was spent in practical verbal silence broken only by Sam's attempts to throw up nothing, seeing as he had failed to eat anything for the past 24 hours at least. Dean rubbed his back in sympathy and did his best to hide his rapidly growing concern.

After drugging his brother with the limited painkillers they had and putting him straight to bed, Dean consulted his mental shopping list and headed out of the Bunker to complete it.

At the store he grabbed everything he needed as quick as he could, including a new thermometer and lots of probably unhelpful meds, and hurried back to check on Sam.

Thankfully, the kid was still knocked out, though sounded congested and was still quite hot. Dean hesitated about the thermometer and in the end decided to wait for a bit. If the fever got worse then he'd push it, but Sam kind of had to be conscious to use the device, though it wasn't really a necessity.

He instead put a glass of water and a packet of strong painkillers on the side for Sam, and headed to his own room to read up on useless subjects that wouldn't actually help. Well, it made him feel better.

Before giving up to sleep and slipping under the covers, Dean thought about how bad Sam was going to get. Hopefully not too much more worse. How wrong he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**See chapter one for notes and things. Sorry about the late update; I've been busy and I'm sick *sigh* But at least now I'll be able to write Sam correctly! Thank you for yelling at me, Nessa, I really needed that ;)**

**Summary: ****_"When's the last time you ate?"  
"I... I don't-"  
"Days, Sam. Three days."_**

* * *

Day Two

Dean woke early, barely able to sleep for worrying about his little brother. He stretched and yawned, getting up and glancing at the time. It was only six in the morning... Sam would probably still be asleep. Well, should be. Who knows what that kid did nowadays.

The hunter walked down the halls of the Bunker, stopped at Sam's room. The door was ajar and Dean looked in. He could see a lump on the bed that was probably Sam, but what he noticed immediately was how damn hot it was in there!

Quickly, Dean nudged open the door until it was more than half way, letting cool air into the stifling room. Then he entered himself.

A look told him that Sam was indeed in bed, practically suffocating and boiling under the covers. Dean didn't want to wake Sam up, but the kid needed to get out of there. Roasting under the duvet wasn't good for his rising temperature.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean called loudly. There wasn't any movement for a second, then the blankets moved and there was a long suffering groan, making Dean wince in sympathy.

"Sam, time to get up," he insisted nevertheless, and when he was sure Sam was awake, Dean added, "I'm gonna go make breakfast. Come out to the main room when you're ready."

He waited for a response, but Sam seemed to still be tangling his way out of the covers. Dean sighed and left him to it.

In the kitchen, the big brother prepared some food with a heavy heart. Clearly Sam was getting sicker and Dean couldn't do a damn thing about it. God_dammit_. If only he was doing those trials himself. But he had failed the first one, and Sam was suffering for it.

Dean sighed wearily. No use crying over spilt milk, he thought, then gave a unamused snort. Who the hell came up with a saying like that?

Ten minutes later he was walking out to tell Sam breakfast was ready... to an empty room. Dean cursed under his breath. He knew the kid would try to skip food again. And dammit, he was not letting him this time.

Dean went on a search, but it didn't take long to find what he was looking for. The light was on in the bathroom, but the door wasn't locked, so he walked straight in.

Sam wasn't even doing anything - he was just sitting there, leaning against the sink with his back on the rim of the bath. Dean sighed sadly.

"Hey, kiddo," he murmured, crouching down next to Sam. The young hunter barely reacted; simply shifting a bit to acknowledge me was still conscious, at least.

Dean waited a moment, then sighed again and said as lightly as he could, "you wanna sit somewhere other than this floor? My legs are getting numb, dude."

It was a poor attempt at humor and he knew it, but at the moment he would take any good things he could get.

In this case, he was rewarded by Sam finally opening his eyes and squinting at him. "Well, you don't have to be here," he muttered, then clenched his teeth as if it hurt to get the breath to talk.

Dean's heart broke for the kid. He shifted his position slightly and replied casually, "yeah, well I don't see your name written on the floor either." He waited a moment but Sam didn't respond, so he added, "I was just being polite. I'm going to drag you back to your room whether you want to or not."

That made a tired smile pull at Sam's face, and Dean gave a barely audible sigh of relief. Good. Responding to teasing was excellent. He would take what he could right now.

With what he considered Sam's permission, Dean took hold of his arm and pulled him up before he could protest. Swaying slightly on his feet, Sam sighed and made his slow and painful way out of the room. Dean watched him worriedly from behind.

Thankfully Sam made it back to his room without having to be steadied, and practically collapsed on his bed, sitting on the edge with his eyes closed. Dean scanned him.

He was definitely worse than even yesterday; his face was pale and there were red circles around his eyes from fever. His nose was raw pink from where it had been repeatedly rubbed, and his voice was thick and croaky.

"Do you want _anything_?" Dean asked, knowing that food was once again a lost cause. Sam shook his head tiredly, eyes remaining closed. Dean sighed for the who knows what time.

Sam opened his eyes and watched Dean tiredly as the hunter dithered in the doorway. He really wanted to help Sam, but Sam needed rest.

"Dean," Sam sighed. Dean met his eyes.

"Hm?"

"It's okay. I just need a moment, then I'll carry on the research. I think-"

"No way." Dean cut him off. "You're getting really sick, Sam, you need to rest."

Sam smiled slightly and shook his head. "Doesn't help," he murmured. Dean made a non-committal sound and the brothers watched each other warily for a moment.

Eventually Dean threw up his hands. "Fine! Go do your research, but if you pass out then I am officially allowed to drug you and lock you in your room," he declared.

Sam raised his eyebrows, but wisely decided not to comment, held under his brother's fierce gaze. He held up his hands. "Alright. Fine."

It troubled Dean how easily Sam accepted that, but he had set down the rules, so after one more calculating look at the sick kid, Dean sighed and left.

Outside Sam's room, Dean waited a second. Sure enough, the moment he was out of sight, Sam gave in to the cough he was holding. Dean sighed once again and leaned against the wall, his eyes close, waiting for it to stop, and trying to control the urge to go back in and make sure his little brother was okay.

Finally, Sam managed to stop trying to choke to death on his own blood, and when he came out a moment later, there was no big brother to be seen. He sighed himself and threw his bloody tissue in the bathroom's bin before making his unsteady way to the main rooms.

Dean, behind Sam, sighed too as he watched his little brother put the blood spotted paper furtively in the bin before continuing to walk, looking like he was going to collapse any second.

Soon, they were both settled in the map room, Sam with a glass of plain water in front of him, having refused any food, as before. Once again the sat there in mostly silence for the afternoon, only Sam's broken coughs filling the time, and only when he thought Dean was busy.

Nearing evening, Dean went to get a coffee, and heard the sound of something falling. Walking quickly back to the room with his mug, he was just in time to see Sam get up off the chair, stumbling and almost falling, and pick up the fallen book.

Dean sighed as he walked back in and Sam looked up, guilt written all over his face. "Sam, why didn't you just wait for me, huh? If you get so dizzy when you stand up, then try not to."

Sam considered arguing, but decided it was a lost cause, and simply shrugged.

Shortly thereafter, he went to his room to read or pass out; Dean could never be sure these days.

The older hunter took a break when Sam was out, putting his head in his hands. He almost brought his hands together to pray, but he had done that before and all that had happened was that Cas had turned up, found Meg, tried to kill him, then disappeared without a word.

Thinking of Cas, Dean felt anger mixed with confusion and hurt. The angel had stated that Sam was ill beyond what he could heal, but had not elaborated. Then he had admitted that he had to keep the tablet safe from Naomi _and _Dean.

He didn't get it. What the hell did Cas think they were going to do with the goddamn stone without a prophet? Break it? Yeah, great call.

Dean took a deep breath and calmed himself, then after a moment returned to his fruitless research to find Kevin and about the Trials... what they could be doing to Sam.

Before heading to his own room, Dean, as per usual, stopped by his brother's.

Sam was lying on top of his bed, fully clothed. He was asleep, facing the door, looking peaceful apart from a too-white face and the heat that he was giving off; even Dean in the hallway could feel it.

Dean sighed. There was nothing he could do tonight. He'd take charge again tomorrow.

He left and headed to his own room with a heavy heart. It wasn't a matter of how much torture the Trials had left, now. It was a matter of how long Sam would hold on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Again, late update, but I'm quite sick at the moment, and in some pain. But hey, that's never stopped me before. So here is the last chapter of this story. Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Summary: ****_"When's the last time you ate?"  
"I... I don't-"  
"Days, Sam. Three days."_**

* * *

Day Three

Dean woke to coughing.

Not his, but Sam's; yet he could hear it from all the way down the hallway, from Sam's room to his. That was bad. Well, what part of this Trials business _wasn't _bad? But this was worse than it had been before.

Alert in seconds, Dean quickly got out of bed and padded down to his little brother's room. The coughs had stopped now, but he still needed to check on Sam. Coughing up blood meant business.

He pushed open Sam's door, that was ajar anyway, and looked in.

The young hunter was sitting on the edge of his bed, covers thrown back. He was rubbing his chest with a grimace directed at the floor more than anything, but Dean doubted the floor had actually done anything.

"Sam?" Dean said quietly. The kid jumped at the sound of his voice and looked up, dropping his hand at his chest awkwardly onto his lap.

Sam cleared his throat and replied croakily, "Hey."

Dean just sighed, hating Sam's attempts to seem better than he was to his big brother's eye.

But he didn't say any of this. After a moment of silence, he simply told Sam, "get some more sleep. It's only early." And glared at him pointedly until the kid had lay back down, slightly confused, but obeying. He was getting worse.

Dean gave him a look that clearly said, 'if you get out of that bed I'm going to tie you to it', before turning and leaving, making sure the door stayed slightly open.

He walked to the Bunker's main rooms, through to the kitchen, and made some coffee without thinking.

Then he leaned against the counter, slowly drinking the hot, caffeinated, drink, and finally, at long last, allowed himself to think.

Sam was getting worse. He could tell that easily. What had started as a little cough had led to practically choking on his own blood as it vengefully poisoned its own body. What was just general dizziness had become full-scale unsteadiness.

Dean could barely watch, but he had to. Had to watch his little brother's health decline more each day. God_dammit_. This one was meant to be on him, not on Sam!

It was probably part of the point that he had to watch Sam get weaker with each passing moment, and be completely and utterly unable to help him or prolong the effects.

He would drag the kid to hospital, despite the whining and bitchfaces, if he thought it would help. But Dean knew it wouldn't. At least, definitely not now. It was too late.

The only thing Dean could do was the help Sam physically, and make sure that he was comfortable and well-fed... which was getting harder in itself. Sam hadn't eaten anything now for about-

Dean's thoughts were cut off as he heard a noise from the other room. Putting his coffee down, he quickly walked to the conference room to find, as he thought, one little brother sitting at a table with books spread out in front of him.

Sam looked tired, exhausted, and was rubbing his eyes and coughing briefly into his hands, looking at them before grimacing and wiping the blood odd on his jeans.

Dean took a calming breath, steeled himself, then walked towards his brother.

"Sam," he said sharply; no playing around this time.

As before, Sam jumped slightly, as if he hadn't heard Dean. His excellent hunter's instincts were failing him as he got weaker.

"Yes, Dean?" Infinitive patience. Something Dean didn't have. He glowered at the kid sitting there.

"Why aren't you in bed? I told you to stay there."

"I... well, I did. For a few minutes. But there are better things I can be doing. Like sorting out this stuff."

Sam sounded even more congested than he perhaps had ten minutes ago. Dean sighed and rubbed his own eyes, suddenly not angry; just tired. Of everything. All this crap, all Kevin's crap - he was just so done. Why couldn't the world just look after itself for a minute.

When he lowered his hand, he saw Sam watching him in concern. It was almost funny. Here the kid was, practically dying because-

_Wait. _No, Sammy was not dying.

Dean hesitated. "Sam?"

The sick hunter squinted at him. "Mm-hm?"

"Don't... die, okay?"

There was a pause, in which hundreds of emotions crossed across Sam's face. Guilt, despair, worry, weariness, anger, and finally settled on tired. Tired of everything, like Dean.

But he didn't answer. After a second, Sam turned back to his books. He cleared his throat briefly and glanced back at Dean, hesitating too.

"What do we do if we don't find Kevin?"

It wasn't the question or statement that Dean was expecting, and it threw him off balance for a moment before he answered.

"Um, well..." Dean hadn't thought that out. Not yet. They didn't really need any more crap, so he had been trying to avoid the subject. But Sam did have a point. What _should _they do?

"Find one of the other prophets, I 'pose," Sam answered for himself thoughtfully, looking into the distance. He looked back at Dean expectantly.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," he replied before walking away, unable to stay there one moment longer. He glanced back as he headed out. "Gonna go get dressed," he supplied listlessly.

Going past Sam's room, Dean looked in. The bed was rumpled but looked like someone had attempted to make it, and there was a glass of juice by the side.

No, wait - not juice. In fact, a glass of water that was coloured by blood. Dean swore under his breath. Why couldn't the kid tell him things for once? Would it kill him to just let Dean help him?

Dean knew that he couldn't really do anything, but it would make himself feel better to try. It was his job, dammit.

Still seething, the elder hunter continued onto his room to get changed.

* * *

Three hours, five books and two failed security camera footages later, Dean was pissed. Again.

Sam had basically been sitting in the same place for that time, occasionally shivering, frequently coughing, and continuously running a rapidly escalating fever.

Dean knew a thing or two about Sammy's temperature. He was so tuned with his little brother that he could practically tell how high it was. Sam's actions helped, of course.

He guessed it had been running at about 101* for the past two days. Now it had definitely gone up a degree or two. In normal illnesses, about 104* was hospital worthy for the Winchesters, but this wasn't normal.

And so, Dean had no idea what to do if Sam's fever got too high.

He would have to, of course, lower it, but how would be the question, because he doubted it would stay low. It would rise again quicker than he could stop it, and Dean didn't know what to do about that.

But at the moment, it was manageable. Dean would worry about the rest when it got here.

His eyes gazed senselessly at the security camera footage on the laptop without seeing it. In a wordless display of anger and weariness, he slammed the lid down and rubbed his face.

Sam barely glanced up from his own research. He was apparently sorting out the Men of Letters archives - "while we wait for Kevin to contact us or we get a lead on him."

Dean blinked and glanced up. He hadn't noticed Sam was talking to him.

"Hmph," was his ungraceful reply. As a result, Sam's weakened bitchface had no effect on him at all, apart from worry.

"I said, have you found anything?"

Dean sighed and opened up the laptop again. The blank footage was still there. He shook his head at his brother. "Nope."

Sam sighed too and returned to his reading.

Dean got up and headed to the kitchen for some more coffee. It was about the only thing keeping him going at the moment. That, and Sam's fight. As long as Sam was fighting, he could too.

Back in the main room, Sam started a coughing fit again. Dean walked back in just to catch him putting a bloody tissue in the bin. Dean sighed, again, for the who knows what time in the past few days.

He walked forward. "Sammy, go lie down. This can wait," he told the kid; more of an order actually.

Sam glanced at him wearily, sighed, and pushed his chair back. "Fine," he muttered, pushing himself up and stumbling before catching himself on the table. Dean resisted the urge to help, scared by his brother's lack of refusal and fight. Not good.

Thankfully, Sam made it to his room relatively upright, before falling onto his bed in tiredness. He didn't bother with blankets; the heat coming off him told Dean that was probably the best idea.

Big brother waited in the doorway till Sam was settled, then sighed wearily - again - and went back to the map room. Sitting down, he let himself just despair for a moment. He put his head in his hands and stayed like that.

This time, he would of prayed if he thought it would help. But he knew it wouldn't. Cas was MIA and all the other angels wanted Dean dead, apparently, if their angel friend's display of attempting to kill him was anything to judge by. There was Naomi, but despite helping them, she was pretty much as much of a dick as the rest of the God Squad.

Dean rubbed his eyes. He was tired too. Tired of Sam not letting him look after him; tired of worrying about Cas - because, yes, he was still doing that despite everything that angel had done so far - because he was gone; tired of wondering where the hell Kevin was at and whether he was dead.

Just tired. Just another day in the Winchester life.

Dean went to his bedroom, falling face first onto his mattress. Memory foam, he remembered, as it sank beneath him. He almost smiled as he thought about how they at least had a home.

He fell asleep deciding that Sam's time was up. Dean was going to help him whether he wanted him to or not.

* * *

Freshly pissed, the next afternoon found Dean in the kitchen, making something the time had come for.

He had woken that morning to find no Sam, which was worrying and a relief. However, he had soon trailed out and settled himself on a seat in the map room, with papers in front of him, shivering and sweating, once again worse.

Dean had already decided Sam wasn't getting a say any more. After a few minutes of watching Sam shake and tremble in his seat, Dean had gotten up and gone to his room, snagging a green blanket he had found.

He had gone back to the main room, where Sam was _up_, getting a book, and had put it over his shoulders. Sam's default reaction of drawing it around him had outweighed his denial a second later. Dean had made him sit down, threatening him to keep the blanket on. Sam had agreed, with less reluctance that was healthy for him.

So Dean had gone into the kitchen to make a stew for lunch.

Not just any food; it was something their dad used to make for them, back in God knows when (actually not even He probably did). Well, used to, meaning when they were very little. Soon, the chore had been passed to Dean, as everything else had.

Dean always made Sammy their dad's 'kitchen sink stew' and Sammy had always proclaimed it made him better. When Sam wouldn't eat it, or didn't want it, Dean would have done 'the airplane thing with the spoon', as young Sammy had always put it.

But as Sam had gotten older and more independent, he began to get annoyed with his brother's tactics, as well as everything else, but secretly they both cherished those moments when they could just act like normal kids.

He wanted to make sure Sam ate it, then take his temperature maybe and decide where to go from there. Hopefully they would have some info soon. It had been three days since Charlie, and three days of Sam getting progressively worse. Dean couldn't take it any more.

He picked up the tray and headed out with it, the thermometer in his pocket.

* * *

* = Fahrenheit

**Thank you for reading! This is the first long story I have done in ages, and I think it turned out pretty good! It took longer than I would have liked to make, but a week isn't bad. Please review so I know what good and bad and what I can improve for my next story. Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.**

**~Rayne x**


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